


Sent It Off a Cliff Just For a Spark

by justkisa



Series: The Boys Who Kiss and Bite [5]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8074201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: Seven pieces of afterwards.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 1) In July 2016 Higuain left Napoli and joined Juventus.
> 
> 2) Still pretending they all speak enough Italian to converse easily.

_one_

The first time they fuck, afterwards, it’s a mistake. 

They’re supposed to have dinner. Catch up. It was Marek’s idea. And he should’ve known it was a bad one.

Gonzalo arrives first. He says, “No,” when Marek asks if he wants to come and sit down. So they stand in Marek’s foyer and make small talk while Gonzalo fidgets and turns his hat over and over in his hands. 

Dries is late because being on time is a concept with which Dries has only a passing acquaintance. He arrives, fifteen minutes after he was supposed to, with a flurry of impatient knocks on Marek’s door. “Once,” Marek says, when he opens the door, “Would’ve been fine.” 

Dries shrugs, smiles, then slips past Marek into the house. Marek lets go of the door. It slams shut. He turns and follows Dries.

Marek catches up with Dries just in time to see Gonzalo open his arms and step forward and Dries fold his arms across his chest and step back. Gonzalo falters, stands there for a second, his arms outstretched, like some kind of awkward bird getting ready to take flight. Then he drops his arms, rocks back on his heels, and says, “Hey.”

Dries takes another step back and says, “Hey.” 

“So,” Marek says, stepping forward, and he’s going to say something like, _now that we’re all here, dinner?_ , because, why pass up a chance to give Dries shit? But he never gets the chance. 

Dries uncrosses his arms, shrugs out of his jacket, and drops it on the floor. He turns toward Marek, tips his chin up, and says, “I want you to fuck me,” like a challenge. He walks away, towards the stairs, before Marek can muster a response. 

Dries stops at the bottom of the stairs, turns back, and says, “You can come too.” He doesn’t look at Gonzalo but there’s no need to guess who he’s talking to. 

“So,” Gonzalo says, once Dries is gone, “Guess we’re not having dinner.” He smiles a little as he says it, a half-hearted twist of his mouth that matches the forced lightness of his words. 

Marek glances at Dries’ jacket, crumpled in a heap on the floor, then looks back at Gonzalo. “We could,” he says, “uh, I could go up and…”

Gonzalo cuts him off. “Nah, man, don’t bother.” He starts moving towards the stairs. 

“You’re going up?” Marek says.

Gonzalo stops. He shrugs. “Yeah.” He looks over his shoulder. “Uh,” he says, hesitant and slow, “You’re not? I mean…” He trails off. He looks like he wants to ask Marek for something but doesn’t think he’s allowed. 

Marek doesn’t know how to tell him he can still ask for anything he wants so he just says, “I am,” and starts towards the stairs. 

He lets Gonzalo walk into the bedroom first. Gonzalo sucks in a breath, harsh and stuttering, and stops so suddenly Marek clips his heels. “Shit,” he says, patting Gonzalo’s hip, “Sorry, man.”

“S’fine,” Gonzalo says and his voice’s gone rough and low. 

Marek pokes his side. “You going to stand there all night, Pipa? Or what?”

Gonzalo shakes his head. “No,” he says, “Uh, m’just—“ But he doesn’t step forward. 

Marek pokes him again. “Just what? C’mon, Pipa, move.” 

“Right,” Gonzalo says. And steps forward. Once. Twice. Until Marek can see what had stopped him in his tracks. 

Dries is sitting at the foot of the bed. He’s naked. He’s leaning back on his hands, his legs spread wide. Not hiding anything. His clothes are in an untidy heap on the floor next to the bed. 

Marek takes a moment to look him over because Dries is always worth looking at. Dries stares back like he knows it. 

Dries looks away first, towards Gonzalo. Marek turns. Gonzalo’s staring at Dries like a man starving. Dries jerks his head to the side and says, “Sit down.” The chair is in the middle of the floor facing the bed. Dries must have put it there, pulled it away from the wall. (Marek had never brought it back downstairs, couldn’t put it back in his dining room, not after everything.)

Gonzalo nods, jerky and quick, says, “Yeah. Okay.” And goes and sits. He’s still holding his hat. He’s fiddling with the brim, his knee jiggling, like he can’t make himself be still. Marek wants to go to him, put his hand on his knee and hold him down. Take the hat away and tell him to put his hands on the chair arms and not move them. 

He doesn’t. He turns away. “And me,” he says lightly, trying to diffuse the razor’s edge of tension they’re balancing uneasily on, “What do you want me to do?”

Dries tips his chin up. “I told you. I want you to fuck me.” 

Marek steps closer. The hard set of Dries’ shoulders, the way his hands are fisted next to his knees, make Marek want to pet him, soothe him, cajole him until he smiles. In this mood, though, Marek’s sure Dries would sooner snatch Marek’s hand off at the wrist than let him. “Okay,” Marek says, instead, “Come here and get on your knees.” 

Dries narrows his eyes. “I—“

Marek cuts him off. “I will,” he says, “Come _here_ ,” because maybe he can’t give Dries what he wants to give him but he can try and give him _something_. 

Dries waits a beat and Marek wonders if he won’t do it, if whatever’s driving him won’t let him, but then Dries pushes up and walks over, slow and deliberate. He stops when he’s close enough that his toes are just brushing against the tips of Marek’s shoes. He stares up at Marek. He doesn’t get on his knees.

“On your knees,” Marek says, softly, “Or I’ll put you there,” because now isn’t the time to give in, but to push. Dries presses his lips together and doesn’t move. Marek hooks one foot behind Dries’ calves and knocks Dries’ legs out from under him. Dries goes down hard. Gonzalo gasps but Marek doesn’t look at him. He fists his hand Dries’ hair and jerks his head back. “Now,” he says, “You’re going to listen better, or you’re not going to get what you want. Understand.” 

Dries licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says, shuddery and slow, “Okay.” 

Marek lets go. He unbuckles his belt. Tugs it free and drops it on the floor. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans. Gets out his dick. He threads his hand back through Dries’ hair. “You want me to fuck you, use that pretty mouth of yours to get me hard first, then we’ll see.” 

Dries smiles, like the steel of a knife blade catching the light, and bends his head. 

It doesn’t take long. Dries sucks dick with a singled minded fervor that’s impossible to resist. But Marek waits. Holds Dries so close he couldn’t back off even if he wanted to. Dries just sinks down all the way, takes Marek’s dick into his throat, then stares up at him. When Marek pulls him off, Dries smiles, mouth spit-slick and red, and says, “Good enough?”

Marek pushes him back. “Go get on the bed. Hands and knees.” 

Marek waits until Dries is settled on the bed. Then, he looks over at Gonzalo. Gonzalo’s hat is on the floor. His hands are on his knees, his fingers dug so hard into his legs that his knuckles are white. He’s staring at Dries like there’s nothing else in the room. “You all right, Pipa?” Marek says softly.

It takes Gonzalo a moment to answer. “Yeah,” he says, hoarse, voice cracking, “Marek. M’good,” but he doesn’t look at Marek.

“Okay,” Marek says. He slips his shoes off but doesn’t bother to get undressed before going over and getting up on the bed. 

Just next to Dries’ knee there’s a handful of condoms scattered across the comforter, a bottle of lube in the middle of them. Marek ignores them for the moment and slides his hands along Dries’ hips, up his sides, along his shoulders. He’s strung so tight that Marek can feel it under his hands, the way his muscles are bunched hard, the way he’s holding himself so rigidly. Marek runs his hands back down Dries’ sides and up along his back. “You need to relax for me,” he says, low, just for Dries, “C’mon.” 

“What I need,” Dries says, “Is for you to fuck me.” 

Marek runs his fingertips along Dries’ shoulder blade, up and over the taut muscle just above, over along the curve of Dries’ neck. “Not like this,” he says.

“Yes. Yes. Like this. _Now_ ,” Dries says, rocking restlessly, “Marek. _Marek_. C’mon,” and he can’t keep up the brash defiance of just moments ago. He sounds desperate - raw - and it scrapes at Marek like a song sharply out of tune.

Marek settles his hand around Dries’ neck. Squeezes. Digs his fingertips in until he can feel Dries’ pulse like it’s his own. “Have I ever not given you what you want? What you need?” he says, “I’ll get you there. Trust me.”

Dries collapses a little under Marek’s hand. His shoulders dropping down. “I do. Marek— I— _Please_.” 

Marek slides his hand along Dries’ spine. “Shh,” he says, “I’m here. I’ve got you.” He curls his hand around Dries’ hip. Runs his fingertips along the line of his hipbone. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Dries says, soft and slow, “Yeah.” 

Marek squeezes his hip. “Just—“ He settles his other hand on Dries’ other hip. “Relax for me.” He runs his hands up Dries’ sides, along his back. Curls them around Dries’ shoulders and circles his thumbs over the tense muscles there. He presses down. Smoothes away the tension. Dries drops his his head down and makes low, shivery sound. 

Marek drags his hands back down Dries’ back. “That’s it,” he says, “There we go. Just like that and I’ll—“ He cups Dries’ ass in his hands. Spreads his cheeks apart and lightly runs his thumbs along the edges of Dries’ hole. Dries shudders. 

“Please,” Dries says, “ _Marek_. Now. I—” 

Marek drags his nails along the curve of Dries’ ass. “Soon,” he says, “When I’m ready.” He pats Dries’ ass and reaches down to grab the lube. He doesn’t want to let go of Dries. Not right now. When he feels like he’s holding Dries together with his hands. So he fumbles it open with one hand. Gets it everywhere. All over his hand. The comforter. He spreads Dries’ cheeks apart with his other hand and lets the excess lube drip from his fingers until the cleft of Dries’ ass, his hole, are slick and shining. Dries shivers and cants his hips back. “Hold still,” Marek says, because he won’t be rushed, and runs his fingers along the trial of slick he’s left along Dries’ skin. 

“Marek,” Dries says, low, his voice cracking, “I—I can’t I— _Please._.” 

“You can,” Marek says, “I know you can. For me.” He circles his fingertips around Dries’ hole. Keeps his touch light but it’s enough to make Dries’ breath stutter. Marek does it again. Dries moans, low and shuddering, but he doesn’t move. “See,” Marek says, pressing his fingertip against Dries’ hole, just barely pushing inside him, “You can be still.” 

“M-marek,” Dries says, “Please. _Please_.” 

“Easy,” Marek says, working his finger inside of Dries, “I’ll get you there.” He works Dries open slowly. Takes his time. Waits until Dries’ begging goes incoherent, until it’s just a continuous stream of soft, pleading sounds. 

When he’s finally ready, when he thinks _Dries_ is finally ready, he pushes into him with one, hard stroke. And Dries makes this _sound_ , deep and reverberating. It shudders through him and through Marek. Marek digs his fingers into Dries’ hips and holds on. He doesn’t move for a moment. He waits. “Marek,” Dries says, “Now. _Now_.”

“Yes,” Marek says, “Now,” and moves. He fucks him slowly but not gently. For a moment, there’s just the sound of it, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, the soft, needy sounds Dries makes. The _feel_ of it, of Dries tight and hot around his dick. Just him and Dries. Like that’s all there is. All that matters.

Then Dries fists his hands in the comforter, like he’s bracing himself for something, and lifts his head. He turns his head. And Marek doesn’t. He stays where he is for a second. Stares at the golden, sweat-slick expanse of Dries’ back, at his dick sliding into Dries, the way Dries’ body stretches to take him in. Then he looks away. Looks where Dries is looking.

Gonzalo is in the same position he’d been in moments ago. Like he hasn’t moved at all. He’s flushed. Face damp with sweat. His mouth is open and his bottom lip is swollen - red - like he’s been worrying it with his teeth. 

“Pipa,” Dries says.

Gonzalo blinks, like he’s coming out of a daze. He licks his lips. “Yeah,” he says, his words sluggish, syrupy slow, “Dries?”

“This getting you off?” Dries says, and there’s nothing slow about his words, they cut and snap like the cracking of a whip, and Marek flinches, digs his fingertips hard into Dries’ skin, “Huh? This still what you like?” Gonzalo turns. Looks at Marek. “ _Don’t._ ” Dries says, “Don’t look at him. Fucking look at me. I’m the one talking to you.” 

Gonzalo jerks his head back. “Okay,” he says, soft and conciliatory, “Dries. Okay.”

“Answer me,” Dries says, “You still like this? Still like watching Marek fuck me? Huh?” 

Gonzalo nods. Quick and jerky. “Yeah, ‘course, Dries.” 

“Show me,” Dries says, “C’mon, Pipa, get your dick out for me.”

“Okay,” Gonzalo says. He lets go of his knees. Flexes his hands. “Okay,” he says again and starts working open the button on his jeans. Marek almost looks away. But he doesn’t. He watches Gonzalo tug down his zipper, watches him fumble his way through getting his dick out. Watches him glance up at Dries every few seconds then look back down, like he’s looking for something but not seeing it, but can’t stop himself from looking for it again and again. Gonzalo doesn’t say anything when he’s done. He leans back in the chair and splays his legs wide.

“Yeah,” Dries says, the knife sharp edge in his voice roughened to something else, something darkly satisfied, “Still gets you off, doesn’t it, Pipa?” He rocks back into Marek’s next thrust into him. And Marek lets him, lets his grip on Dries’ hips slacken. “Bet you jerk off thinking about it, _hmm_ , Pipa? ‘Cause you miss it, don’t you? Huh? Miss everything we used to do?”

Gonzalo fists his hands. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice shakes, “I miss it. Miss y—“

“Don’t,” Dries says, “Fucking _don’t_ ,” and looks away. Drops his head down. 

Marek watches Gonzalo. Watches him slump in the chair. Gonzalo looks at him, just for a second, then he looks back at Dries. Marek watches him for another moment. Wonders what exactly Gonzalo misses. What that next word would’ve been. Or the words after it. He watches Gonzalo straighten up a little and settle his hands back on his knees. Maybe it’s better not to know what Gonzalo misses. 

Marek looks back at Dries and tightens his grip on him. Stills the restless rocking of his hips. “Marek,” Dries says, “Don’t. C’mon. Fuck me. C’mon. Harder. I— I need— Need— _Fuck_. C’mon. _C’mon._.” 

Marek jerks Dries’ hips up. He slides one hand up Dries’ back and pushes down hard on the back of Dries head. Shoving him down until he’s face first against the comforter. And Dries sighs like not being able to see anything, like being pressed down, being held down like that, is a relief. Marek threads his fingers through Dries’ hair and twists it hard. Dries shudders. “Stay down,” Marek says, “And I’ll fuck you like you want to be fucked.” 

Marek lets go of Dries and waits. Dries stays down. Holds himself perfectly still for Marek. And Marek gives him what he wants. 

He comes with Dries. And feels— He wants to let go. To pull out of Dries body and— 

He doesn’t. 

He runs his hands up and down Dries’ back. Pets his sides. His hips. Dries’ skin is hot and tacky with sweat and Marek’s palms stick unpleasantly to him. But Marek keeps going. Pets and soothes until Dries stops shaking. Until his breathing evens out and he raises his head. And Marek pulls out of him. Lets him go. Rocks back onto his heels. He breathes in and out. _In and out._. Until his own breathing slows. 

Dries pushes himself up. Kneels in the middle of the bed for a moment then shuffles the side of the bed and climbs down. He sways for a moment. And Marek fists his hands. Resists the urge to reach out and steady him. He’s steadied Dries as much as he can. Given him whatever he can. Whatever he’ll take. Dries doesn’t look back at Marek. 

Dries steps forward. And Marek looks down. He takes off the condom. Ties it off. Throws it aside without looking where it lands. He does his pants back up then looks up. 

Dries is standing between Gonzalo’s knees. “You didn’t come?” Dries says, “Were you waiting for something, Pipa? Huh?” 

Gonzalo reaches out. “No,” Dries says, so sharply that Marek flinches along with Gonzalo, “ _No._ ” Gonzalo lowers his hand. 

There’s quiet. For a moment. Gonzalo and Dries staring at each other. 

“I want to,” Dries says, hard and low, “see you come for me. Want to see you touch yourself for me. You going to do that for me, Pipa? Going to put your hand on your dick, jizz all over your fingers for me?”

Marek can hear Gonzalo suck in a breath. Harsh and stuttering. Then, “Yeah. Okay,” Gonzalo says, his voice cracking, “Whatever you want, Dries.”

Marek can’t see it. Dries is in the way. He can hear the faint, slapping sound of it. The way Gonzalo’s - Dries’ - breathing hitches. “Dries,” Gonzalo says, “ _Fuck_. Dries. _Dries_. Please.” And he reaches out for Dries again. 

Dries steps back. Away from Gonzalo’s hand. “Come for me, Pipa. Now. Want to see you come for me. C’mon.” Gonzalo says Dries’ name again. Raw and so desperate Marek has to look away for a second. Then it’s quiet. 

Marek looks back. Dries leans in. So close Marek’s sure he’s going to kiss Gonzalo. He doesn’t. He says something. Too quiet for Marek to hear. Gonzalo recoils like he’s been slapped. Then Dries turns and walks away from him. 

Dries picks his clothes and shoes up off the floor. He turns and looks at Marek. “Marek,” he says. Just that. Just Marek’s name. Then he’s gone. Walking out the door without even putting his clothes back on. 

And then it’s just him and Gonzalo staring at each other. Gonzalo looks wrecked. His pants still open. His limp dick hanging out of them. “He’ll,” Marek says, after a moment, “get over being mad,” because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Sure,” Gonzalo says. He looks down. He wipes his hand on his shirt then tucks his dick back into his pants and starts doing them back up. He looks back up. “And when do you think that’ll be?” 

Marek hesitates because, of the two of them, Gonzalo’s always been the one who makes him want to sugarcoat things. “I don’t know.” 

Gonzalo laughs, bitter and wholly unamused. “Yeah,” he says, scrubbing his hand across his face, “Right.” 

“He will get over it, Pipita,” Marek says, and maybe he believes it, maybe he doesn’t,“He can never stay mad.”

Gonzalo looks away then back again. “And you, Marek? What about you? Are you mad?” 

Marek looks away. “You did what you thought was best for you.” 

“Oh? What do you think I should’ve done?”

Marek takes a slow, deep breath then he turns back. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

Gonzalo stares at him for a moment. Then he stands up and says, “I should go.”

And it’s the best answer. Because, if Gonzalo had cared what Marek thought, he wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. Marek gets off the bed. “Yeah,” he says, “Maybe you should.” 

Gonzalo stops in front of Marek. “So,” he says.

“I’ll see you around,” Marek says, and leans in, more out of reflex than anything else, and gives him a hug. He means it to be short. But Gonzalo grabs him and holds on tight. 

“Take care of him,” Gonzalo says, whispers it right in Marek’s ear, then he kisses Marek’s cheek and lets him go.

“Take care of yourself, Pipa,” Marek says to Gonzalo’s back. Gonzalo doesn’t turn around but he lifts his hand and waves. Then he’s gone. 

Marek looks around. Gonzalo’s left his hat behind. It’s on the floor beside the chair. Marek picks it up and tosses it on the bed.

When he goes downstairs, he finds Dries’ jacket on the floor in the foyer. 

He takes them both with him to training the next day and gives both of them to Dries. Dries turns the hat over in his hands and says, “This isn’t mine.”

“I know,” Marek says, “But I thought you might want it.” 

Dries shrugs but he doesn’t give the hat back. 

_two_

Dries keeps the hat.

Well, first he throws the hat away, then he snatches it out of his bathroom garbage can and keeps it.

He puts it on top of his dresser. 

He leaves it there for a week or so and stares at it while he’s getting dressed.

One morning, he takes out his phone and takes a picture of it. It turns out like some kind of shitty magazine spread. Gonzalo’s hat askew in the midst of all of Dries’ watches and other crap.

He sends the picture to Gonzalo. He’s not sure why. He doesn’t send a message. Just the picture. Then he shoves his phone in his pocket and goes to training.

After training, there’s a message on his phone. It just says _????_.

Dries waits three whole days then sends back _you left it at mareks_. He waits a second then sends _and im not giving it back_.

He waits a minute for a response. But there isn’t one. 

Later, after training, there is a response. One word. _okay_. 

Dries puts his phone in his pocket. Takes two steps. Pulls his phone back out. Sends _im not giving back any of your other shit either_. He has a lot of Gonzalo’s stuff. Dries didn’t realize how much until Gonzalo was gone and Dries kept finding another one of Gonzalo’s shirts or sweatshirts every time he opened one of his drawers.

In the morning there are two texts from Gonzalo. _okay_ then, a minute later, _im sorry_. 

Dries stares at the second text for a long time. _for what?_ he finally sends, because just saying _sorry_ is too easy. It doesn’t mean shit. Then he leaves his phone at home so he won’t look at it every two minutes.

When he gets home, there are two more texts. _for not telling u i was leaving_ and _for not saying goodbye_. Dries holds his phone so tight the case digs hard into his palm. When he puts it down, he can see the design on his case imprinted in his palm. He doesn’t send a reply. 

The next morning there’s another text. _dries?_

_fine_ he sends, _you’re sorry_. It doesn’t change shit. And he’s not ready to be anything other than mad. It’s easier being mad. 

He’s barely finished typing when Gonzalo sends, _can i call u?_

That one’s easy to answer. _no not now_. And Gonzalo listens to him. Somehow, that’s worse than Dries thinks talking to him would’ve been. But he doesn’t send another text. Doesn’t tell Gonzalo he can call him. 

He moves the hat off his dresser. Tosses it in with all his other ones.

A couple weeks later, he’s running late in the morning and he grabs a hat without looking and shoves it over his unwashed, unbrushed hair. He doesn’t realize which hat it is until he’s halfway to training. 

When Marek sees Dries, he raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. 

Gonzalo’s hat is a little too big for him. Awkward to wear. Dries puts it back on after training anyway. 

Before he takes it off, he takes a picture of himself wearing it. He doesn’t smile for the picture. Doesn’t put any effort at all into taking it. It comes out crooked and a little blurry. He sends the picture to Gonzalo.

Gonzalo texts back while Dries is eating dinner. _looks good on you_. Dries puts down his fork and sends back _it doesnt fit_.

In the morning there are two texts from Gonzalo. _none of my stuff fits you_ and _didnt stop you from taking half my shirts_. 

And Dries smiles because, for a minute, he can hear the words in the exact tone of fond, exasperation Gonzalo used every time Dries took another of his shirts. _you fucking liar_ he sends back _it wasnt close to half_.

_whatever_ , Gonzalo sends, _it was a lot_. 

Dries stares at the _was_ for a long time. Finally he just sends, _yeah_ , and puts his phone in his pocket. 

His phone buzzes awhile later and, when he checks it, there’s another text from Gonzalo. _you know i never cared about you taking my stuff right? i like seeing you in it_.

Dries shoves his phone back in his pocket. He’s not ready to hear shit like that from Gonzalo. Not now. Maybe not ever. (He’s not sure he’d ever have been ready even if Gonzalo had stayed.)

He never answers the text. But he looks at it from time to time. 

_three_

Dries brings Marek dinner on a Wednesday. 

He shows up at Marek’s door with a bag of takeout from one of Marek’s favorite restaurants. He doesn’t say anything when Marek answers the door just holds up the bag and slips past Marek into the house. He goes straight into Marek’s kitchen and starts getting down plates and getting out forks and knives. He knows where everything is and Marek can barely remember anymore a time when he didn’t. The first thing Dries says to him, his hand on the handle of the refrigerator door, is, “What do you want to drink?” 

“I’ll get it,” Marek says, because it’s his kitchen, “You sit down.” 

Dries shrugs. He goes back to the counter, picks up the food and the plates and utensils and goes to set the table. 

“So,” Marek says, waving his hand at the neatly set table as he sits down, “What’s the special occasion? What’s all this?” He shoves a bottle of water across the table for Dries and waits for Dries to finish chewing.

Dries shrugs. “It’s dinner, Marek, I bring you dinner all the time.”

“Usually,” Marek says, opening the takeout container Dries had left next to his plate, “When you bring me dinner, you shove a bag of food in my hands and then go sit on my sofa and start fucking around with my TV.” 

Dries shrugs again. “Yeah. But that pisses you off so I thought, you know….” He waves his hand at the table. 

Marek almost laughs because he’s pretty sure Dries doesn’t give a fuck about pissing him off. In fact, he’s almost certain that most of the time Dries pisses him off on purpose. “Right,” he says, “Okay.” Dries smiles a little then goes back to eating.

When they’re done with dinner, Marek says, “You want to stay? Watch a movie or something?” 

Dries lights up, looks happier than Marek’s seen him look in days. “Okay,” he says, “But I get to pick.” 

Marek smiles then because that’s much more like Dries then setting the table had been. “Oh? Why’s that?”

Dries smiles. “I bought you dinner,” he says, pushing back from the table.

Marek shakes his head and stands up. He leans over and grabs Dries’ dishes. “Fine,” he says, “Go find something to watch.” 

Marek puts their dishes in the sink then makes his way to the living room. The TV is blaring. Dries’ shoes are under opposite corners of the coffee table, like he’d just kicked them off, and Dries himself is sitting cross-legged on the sofa, fiddling with Marek’s remote. 

Marek flops down next to Dries and bumps his shoulder into Dries’. “So,” he says, “What’re we watching?” 

Dries leans into him. “Dunno,” he says, “Still looking.” 

Dries eventually settles on an action movie that seems more explosions than anything else. He doesn’t say much while they watch which is unusual. Dries usually keeps up a running commentary and Marek gives him shit about it and tells him he’s never going to the theater to see anything with him ever. Not today. Instead Dries just scoots closer and closer until he’s pressed tightly against Marek’s side. Marek rests his arm along the back of the sofa behind Dries’ shoulders and pretends that he’s enjoying the novelty of the quiet. 

Dries puts his head down on Marek’s shoulder. Marek startles a little. He and Dries, they don’t— This isn’t what they do. They watch shitty movies and Dries makes fun of them and Marek humors him and gives him shit. They don’t— 

Dries reaches up to tug Marek’s hand down until his arm is wrapped around Dries’ shoulders. Marek’s still stuck, still adjusting to the weight on Dries’ head on his shoulder, and he doesn’t resist. Then Dries sighs a little and relaxes against Marek. And Marek doesn’t move.

They stay like that while the bad guy in the movie blows up yet another building. And another. Dries falls asleep sometime after that and before the bad guy blows up a bridge. He stays asleep. And Marek stays still, watches a movie he doesn’t care about, fiddles with the edge of Dries’ shirtsleeve, and lets him sleep. 

When the movie’s over, Marek gently shakes Dries and says, “C’mon, time to get up.” 

Dries rubs his cheek against Marek’s shoulder. “ _Mmm_ , ‘kay.” He plants his hand on Marek’s chest and pushes himself up. He smiles sleepily at Marek. “M’up.”

“You want to go home or stay here?” Marek asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Stay here,” Dries says. He hasn’t moved away. Still has his hand on Marek’s chest. 

“Okay,” Marek says, “You know where everything is.” 

Dries frowns. “Want to stay with you. Want—“ He leans in and kisses Marek. Marek turns and Dries’ mouth skates along the corner of his mouth. “Marek?” Dries says, pulling back. 

Marek lets go of Dries and shifts away from him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Dries straightens up. “Okay.” He stares at Marek for a moment. “Because Pipita’s gone?” And Marek startles because it’s the first time Dries has said Gonzalo’s name in days. “Or,” Dries continues, “You just…”

Marek looks away because Pipita’s gone from everywhere in his everyday except for between him and Dries.

“You never believed me,” Dries says, quiet and slow, “Did you? When I told you that I’d have wanted you even without the thing with Pipita?”

Marek looks back at him. “Dries…” he says, because sometimes he had, and sometimes—

“You didn’t,” Dries says. He’s rumpled and still flushed from sleep. He looks soft and touchable but his voice’s gone hard-edged. And Marek wants to look away again but he doesn’t. “But you fucked me a whole lot anyway. Why’s that, Marek, huh? Did you just like that I’d do anything you wanted? Or—“

“Fuck you, Dries,” Marek says. Dries snaps his mouth shut. “Whatever else you think, what we did, you and me, you wanted it too.” 

“Marek.” Dries scrubs his hand through his hair. “ _Shit_. I shouldn’t have said that. I did. I wanted it too. I just, _fuck_. I wanted _you_. Want you. And you— You, what, Marek? Huh?”

“I,” Marek says. Stops. Because this isn’t about then. Isn’t about before. “We’re—we’re friends. I liked - like - fucking you. Just…” 

“Just what?” Dries says.

“I’m not—“ Marek says. He looks away. “Not Pipita. I can’t—“

“Can’t what?” Dries says softly.

Marek looks back at him. “You and me,” he says slowly, “What we had—have—it’s good. But I’m not going to do the stuff Pipita did with you, not— _Fuck_. I don’t know.” 

Dries starts to laugh. 

“What the fuck, Dries?” 

Dries keeps laughing. “I know what this is about.” 

“What?”

“This,” Dries says, a little breathlessly, “Is about the cuddling, isn’t it? You hate that shit. And I— I— _Shit_.” 

Marek laughs a little. “Kinda. Yeah.” He pauses. “I won’t— _can’t_ —replace Pipita, for you,” he says, because he can’t be both of them for Dries, can’t replace what Gonzalo gave him, can’t—won’t—take on Gonzalo’s role like a set of ill-fitting clothes, “And if—if that’s what—“ He waves his hand between them. “This is then…”

“It’s not,” Dries says, “Marek, I swear.” 

Marek wants to believe him. He doesn’t. But he wants to. “Okay,” he says, “Dries, okay.” 

Dries smiles a little, like he knows it’s all mostly a lie. “Can I still stay?” he says, “I mean, just to sleep or whatever.” 

“Yeah,” Marek says, standing up, “Sure.” He holds out his hand. “C’mon.” 

Dries takes his hand and lets Marek pull him up. “Thanks.” 

When they get to the top of the stairs, Dries says quietly, “Uh, can I maybe sleep in one of the other rooms, not in…” He trails off. 

“Sure,” Marek says, “Whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” Dries says. He tips up and kisses Marek’s cheek. “For, you know…” He shrugs.

Marek leans down and kisses Dries, soft and square on the mouth. “Goodnight.” 

Dries smiles a little. “‘Night, Marek.” Then he shuffles off down the hall. He pauses at the first door. He reaches out like he’s going to touch the door knob then he drops his hand and makes his way down the hall to the guest room at the far end.

In the morning, Marek makes his way downstairs and starts coffee. Dries is nowhere to be found but Marek didn’t expect to find him. Dries sleeps until something - or someone - makes him wake up. 

He drinks his coffee standing at the counter. Then he puts his mug in the sink and pours a mug for Dries and takes it upstairs. 

Marek doesn’t knock, just slips quietly into the room. Dries is spread across the bed in starfish fashion. His chin is tucked into his right shoulder and his mouth is wide open. Marek sits down on the edge of the bed, careful not to sit on Dries’ fingertips, and waits. He doesn’t have to wait too long. Dries draws his limbs in and curls his whole body toward Marek. He opens his eyes and blinks up at Marek. “S’that coffee?” he says.

“Yes,” Marek says, while Dries pushes himself up into a sitting position, “And yes, it’s for you.” He hands it over. 

Dries says something that’s probably _thanks_ around his first sip. They sit in silence until Dries finishes and hands Marek the mug. Marek puts on the nightstand. “You all right?” Marek says.

“Dunno,” Dries says, “Did you make breakfast too?” 

Marek leans into him. “C’mon, do I ever?” 

“No, you don’t, you lazy fucker, “ Dries says. 

Marek laughs a little. “See if I make you coffee ever again.” 

“You will,” Dries says.

And he’s right but Marek just says, “We’ll see.” 

Dries is quiet for a moment and Marek watches him out of the corner of his eye. He’s fiddling with his fingers the way he does when he’s nervous. “Marek,” he says, soft and more serious than he usually is, “I…” He pauses. “I don’t care, you know, if we fuck or not, I just…” He trails off. Marek waits for him to start to talking again but he doesn’t. He just sits there plucking at the comforter. 

Marek nudges him with his elbow. “What? Was I that bad?” 

Dries huffs and elbows him back. “Don’t be stupid.” 

Marek smiles a little. “It’s not,” he says carefully, “About if we fuck or not, it’s—“

Dries interrupts him. “That’s—that’s what I’m trying— I just, I know— I know you’re not Pipita. I do. And I don’t want you to be. I swear. I just— I want us to be okay. Want us to still, you know…” He shrugs and Marek can feel Dries’ shoulder move against his. 

Marek puts his hand on Dries’ knee. “Look at me,” he says. Dries turns. And it’s strange to see him so solemn, so serious. “We’re okay,” Marek says, more because he hopes they will be than because they are, “Dries. We’re here.” And Gonzalo isn’t. And maybe, one day, Marek will look over at Dries and not expect to see Gonzalo on his other side (because he always did, even when it was just the two of them). But not today. But he wants to keep seeing Dries there at _his_ side so he’ll make it — them, just them, — okay. Somehow. “We’re okay,” he says again.

Dries’ mouth twitches in something that might, generously, be called a smile. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay.” 

And, maybe, it’s a lie, but it’s a lie they both want to believe. And that’s good enough. For now.

Marek squeezes his knee and says, “C’mon, I’ll make you breakfast.” 

Dries laughs. “Liar.” 

Marek rolls his eyes. “I’ll buy you breakfast, well,” he glances at the clock, “More like lunch.” He hops off the bed and holds out his hand. “C’mon.” And Dries reaches out and takes his hand.

_four_

“I’m still mad,” Dries says. And Gonzalo believes him. Even though he’s smiling and his mouth is spit-slick and swollen. 

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, pulling his shorts back up, “Okay.” 

Dries leans into him and tips his chin up. “Kiss me.” 

Gonzalo smiles a little. “I thought you were still mad. Are you sure you want me to?”

Dries rolls his eyes. “Just fucking do it.” 

Gonzalo dips his head and brushes his mouth across Dries’ mouth. Dries makes a low, frustrated sound. “For real, you fucking bastard.” Gonzalo laughs a little and Dries pokes his stomach. “Fuck you. Kiss me.” Gonzalo kisses him again. Light and quick. Because he can’t resist teasing him a little more. Then, for real, because he’s missed the way Dries opens his mouth for him, missed the taste of him. 

Dries fists his hands in the front of Gonzalo’s jersey and doesn’t let go when Gonzalo lifts his head. “That better?” Gonzalo says. 

Dries smiles. “Maybe,” he says and lets go of Gonzalo’s jersey. Gonzalo wants to step into him, get closer, because he isn’t ready to be let go. And he almost does. But Dries curls his hands around Gonzalo’s wrists and brings Gonzalo’s hands up so his knuckles are rubbing against Dries’ stomach. He tips up and drags his mouth along Gonzalo’s jaw. “Put your hands on me, Pipa,” he says, pressing his mouth right up against Gonzalo’s ear, “C’mon. Touch me. Get me off.” 

Gonzalo grabs Dries’ jersey with both hands and pulls. Dries tumbles into him. His hands slip off Gonzalo’s wrists and he presses his face against Gonzalo’s shoulder. Gonzalo pushes his jersey up and trails his fingertips along the waistband of his shorts. Dries nuzzles his shoulder. “More, Pipa. S’not enough. Touch me. C’mon.” 

Gonzalo hooks his fingers into Dries’ waistband, tugs his shorts and his underwear down his hips, just far enough to get his dick out. He settles one hand on Dries’ hip and curls the other around his dick. Dries makes a pleased, humming sound. “That better?” Gonzalo says.

Dries laughs a little. “Maybe,” he says, “But you’re going to have to do more than just standing there holding my dick.” 

Gonzalo moves his hand. He strokes Dries, slow and steady, the way he knows he likes. “Better?” he asks but the way Dries’ hips stutter forward is really all the answer he needs. 

“ _Mmm,_ ” Dries says, straightening up a little and pressing a kiss against the hollow of Gonzalo’s throat, “Yeah. S’good, Pipa.” He curls into Gonzalo and buries his face against Gonzalo’s neck. “Missed this,” he says, whispering the words against Gonzalo’s skin, “Having your hands on me. The way you touch me.” 

It makes Gonzalo’s chest ache. “I—“ he says.

“Don’t,” Dries says, “Just— Just keep touching me.”

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “Okay,” because if that’s what he can have, what Dries’ll let him do, that’s what he’ll take. He digs his fingers into Dries’ hip and speeds his strokes up.

“Fuck, Pipa,” Dries says, “Like that. So good. Always so good. The way you touch me. Fuck me. Miss that too. Miss having your dick in me. _Fuck_.” Gonzalo bites down on his lip to keep from answering, to keep from letting everything he misses spill out of him a rushing flood. He keeps stroking Dries. He concentrates on the warm, smooth feel of Dries’ dick in his fist, the way his fingers are getting sticky with pre-come, the way Dries’ hips are restlessly pushing forward, like he’s desperate for Gonzalo’s touch. 

“God, Pipa,” Dries says, “Missed it all. So much. Missed sucking you. Being on my knees for you. _Fuck_. I got hard before just— Just being on my knees, before I even put my mouth on your dick. Just. Just I fucking missed it the taste, the— Missed—“ He stutters to a stop. His breath is coming in quick pants. Gonzalo can feel the warm, humid gusts of it against his throat. Gonzalo speeds up his strokes. “Pipa,” Dries says. He presses his open mouth to Gonzalo’s throat. “ _Pipa_ ,” he says again and comes. 

Dries slumps into Gonzalo and Gonzalo tentatively wraps his arms around him. Dries takes a deep, shuddering breath then clamps his arms around Gonzalo’s waist. Gonzalo turns his face into Dries’ hair and holds on. “I,” Dries says, the words low and muffled against Gonzalo’s shoulder, “miss you.” 

“I, uh,” Gonzalo says and waits. Waits for Dries to tell him to shut up or for Dries to step back, to push Gonzalo away. Dries doesn’t. “I miss you too. And I—“ 

“Dries. Dries, you back there?” 

“Shit,” Gonzalo says, setting Dries back, “ _Fuck._ Who is that?”

Dries rolls his eyes and pulls up his shorts. “It’s just Marek. Relax.” 

“Right,” Gonzalo says, “Right. Yeah. I knew that.”

Dries laughs a little. “Right. Sure.” he says, patting Gonzalo’s arm, “Of course you did.” He pauses then says, “I’ve got to go.”

“Right,” Gonzalo says, “Of course.” 

Dries leans up and kisses him, soft and sweet. “I’m still mad,” he says, right against Gonzalo’s mouth.

“Okay,” Gonzalo says, because he still believes him, then he kisses him again.

Dries steps back. “See you ‘round, Pipa, ‘kay?” 

He turns and walks away while Gonzalo’s still saying “Right. Yeah. See you around.” 

He follows after him, because there’s really only one way out of the dark corner they’d found themselves. When he turns the corner, Marek’s there, fussing with Dries’ jersey, straightening it out, and saying something to him that makes Dries smile up at him with this soft, fond expression that makes something twist painfully in Gonzalo’s chest. 

Marek looks up. “Pipita,” he says, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Gonzalo says. 

Marek pats Dries shoulder. “Go on,” he says, “It’s almost time to go and you have to get changed.” Dries goes without a backward glance but Marek stays and comes over to Gonzalo. 

“Thought it was time to go,” Gonzalo says.

Marek shrugs. “I’ve got a few minutes.” He reaches out and straightens out Gonzalo’s jersey. “You might’ve,” he says, patting Gonzalo’s arm with a bit more force than Gonzalo really thinks is necessary, “wanted to do something that didn’t involve getting jizz all over both of your jerseys.” 

“ _Shit_. Fuck,” Gonzalo says pulling his jersey out so he can look at it. Marek’s right, the bastard. 

Marek laughs. “Yeah. Might want to get changed as quick as you can.” 

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “Right.”

Marek smiles a little. “You doing all right, Pipita?” 

Gonzalo shrugs. “Sure. M’fine.” And he is. Most of the time. They win a lot. It’s— It’s fine. It’s good.

“Okay,” Marek says, “That’s good.”

“And you,” Gonzalo says, “You’re…”

“Also fine,” Marek says. 

“Right,” Gonzalo says, “Good.”

“I should…” Marek says. 

“Right. Yeah,” Gonzalo says, looking down — away from Marek’s stare. 

Marek turns away, then turns back and steps right into Gonzalo’s space. He tips Gonzalo’s chin up and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He pats Gonzalo’s cheek. “Take care of yourself, Pipa,” he says, then turns again and walks away.

Gonzalo reaches out but Marek’s too fast and his fingers just glance along Marek’s back. “You too, Marek,” he says. Marek keeps walking, doesn’t even turn back. Gonzalo wants to snatch him back. Wants to fist his hands in Marek’s jersey and pull him close. But he just watches Marek walk away, back to Dries, back to the place where Gonzalo used to belong. 

_five_

Marek doesn’t wait for Dries but the seat next to him on the bus is still empty when Dries gets there. Dries flops down next to him. Marek leans into him for a second but doesn’t look up from his phone.

Pepe walks past and ruffles Dries’ hair. Dries smacks at his hand but Pepe dances away laughing. Dries reaches up to fix his hair. “Don’t know why you bother,” Marek says, “It always looks like a mess.”

Dries smacks his thigh. “Fuck you. It does not.”

Marek laughs. “It really does.” 

“Whatever,” Dries says, squirming down in the seat, trying to get comfortable. 

Marek doesn’t say anything more. 

The bus starts moving. The hum of the engine mixing with the murmurs of their teammates into a familiar melange of sound. 

Dries fishes his phone out of his pocket. There’s a scattering of texts from various people about the game. He doesn’t bother answering any of them. 

The sound in the bus subsides into the humming kind of hush that drapes itself over them after they’ve lost. It’s dim. The only light is coming from the lights they pass along the road. The light flickering in and out as they move. A ripple of light and shadow. 

Dries closes his eyes. Opens them again. “You okay?” Marek says, so soft Dries has to lean in to hear him. 

Dries licks his lips. He can still taste Gonzalo, along his lips, and salt and bitter on the back of his tongue. He could have washed the taste away but he hadn’t. He’d left the reminder there to linger. The only thing he could take with him. “Sure,” he says. 

“Nice,” Marek says, his words crisp and precise the way they are when he’s being careful, “to see Pipita.”

Dries hadn’t been able to look at Gonzalo in the tunnel. Hadn’t— On the pitch, it’d been easier. He wasn’t Gonzalo. He was just another player in black and white stripes. Just someone else Dries had wanted to beat. 

Then they’d lost. 

And Gonzalo had found him and ducked his head in that sheepish way he does when he knows you’re mad but really doesn’t want you to be and said, “Hey.” And he’d been so close. Close enough that Dries could smell him, sweat and dirt, close enough that Dries could feel the heat of his body. And he’d— He couldn’t stop himself from touching him. From pushing into him and clinging. And Gonzalo had scrambled his arms around him and hauled him close. 

But it hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been— “I want,” he’d said, words pressed against Gonzalo’s chest, “Please. _Pipa_.” And Gonzalo had hauled him somewhere, his grip on Dries’ arms hard and desperate. 

Dries had gotten on his knees without looking at Gonzalo’s face. Tried to slake his sudden , overwhelming wanting with the feel of Gonzalo’s dick stretching his mouth, with the taste of him. Gonzalo had begged, gone incoherent, all broken bits of Spanish and guttural pleas. And Dries had exalted in that because Gonzalo left but Dries could still make him sound like that, still had something Gonzalo wanted. 

Still, it’d taken almost nothing to make Gonzalo come, almost like he’d never had anyone’s mouth on his dick before. It’d been too fast. Not enough. Dries had gotten up, Gonzalo’s come still slick along his tongue. Gonzalo had smiled, soft and sated, and Dries— Dries had still wanted— Still— 

“Dries?” Marek says.

Dries blinks. “Sure,” he says, slowly, “Nice.” 

Marek puts his hand on Dries’ knee. His hand is warm, solid. And his touch stills something inside of Dries. Calms him. “Maybe,” he says, “You should talk to him.” 

“We talked,” Dries says.

Marek pats his knee. “Okay.”

Dries’ phone chimes and Dries shifts his knee away from Marek’s hand and looks at the screen. There’s a text from Gonzalo. _good to see you_

Dries stares at the words for awhile. _you too_ he sends back. He pauses then, before he can think better of it, he sends _call me sometime_.

Gonzalo’s response comes right away. _really?_

_yeah_ Dries sends because it’s too late to take it back. Also he doesn’t _want_ to take it back. 

_okay_ Gonzalo sends along with a ridiculous string of smiley face emojis. Dries laughs a little. 

“Good message?” Marek says.

“Yeah,” Dries says, “Not bad.”

_six_

_only open if u r alone ok_

Gonzalo glances around the changing room. No one’s looking at him. Or standing near him. He opens the file. Then almost drops his phone in his haste to close it. 

“What,” Paulo says, popping up next to Gonzalo’s right shoulder, “Are you looking at?” 

“What?” Gonzalo says, startled, “Nothing. Nothing.” 

Paulo leans in, peering at Gonzalo’s phone. Gonzalo presses his phone against his chest. “It sounded like— Was it porn?” he says with a wide-eyed, shocked look which is the most bullshit Gonzalo’s seen in awhile. 

“No,” Gonzalo says, which, okay, is a big fucking lie, “S’not. Just—just a friend who thinks he’s funny.”

Paulo cackles. “You’re such a liar. It was totally porn, wasn’t it?” And he reaches out and snatches at Gonzalo’s phone. 

Gonzalo turns away. “What the fuck, Paulo?” Paulo just scrambles up his side and makes another grab for Gonzalo’s phone. Gonzalo elbows him. Hard. “Stop it.” 

“Ow, Pipita, that fucking hurt.” Paulo says.

“Well fucking keep your hands to yourself,” Gonzalo says.

Paulo rolls his eyes and holds up his hands. “Fine. Fine.” 

Gonzalo relaxes a little and then, predictably, Paulo makes another grab for his phone. But someone, Gonzalo looks up, Buffon, grabs Paulo’s shirt and hauls him back. “Leave Gonzalo alone.” 

Paulo pouts but he says, “Fine. Fine.” 

Gonzalo mumbles, “Uh, thanks.”

Buffon smiles widely and claps Gonzalo hard on the shoulder. “No trouble.” 

As soon as Buffon is gone, Paulo leans in close and mouths _totally porn_. 

Gonzalo ignores him, gets his stuff, and makes the fastest escape he can. As soon as he’s in the hall, he texts Dries, _wtf?_.

When he gets home, there’s an answer from Dries. _told you to open it alone pipa_ then _did you like it?_.

_havent watched it_ Gonzalo sends back.

_watch it ;)_.

Gonzalo drops his stuff and kicks off his shoes. Then he goes to his bedroom and flops down on his bed. He scoots back until he’s propped up against the headboard and the pillows. He scrolls up, takes a deep breath, and opens the file again. 

When it’s done playing, he’s hard and sweating. His phone slipping in his grip. He puts it down. Wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs. Then he picks it up and plays the video again. 

It’s short. Less than two minutes. It’s shaky. Filmed with an unsteady hand. Marek’s unsteady hand. His other hand is buried in Dries’ hair. It starts with a view of the top of Dries’ head. Marek pressing him close, murmuring, rough and a little breathless, “Fuck, c’mon, take all of it. That’s it. Show Pipa how good you take it.” Then he pulls Dries back, says, “Look up for me, _hmm_ , for Pipa.” And Dries looks up and smiles around Marek’s dick. “That’s it. So good, aren’t you, baby?” He fucks Dries’ mouth with quick, shallow thrusts. “So fucking good. I’m going to— Fuck. _Fuck_.” And then he comes. Come landing in sticky strands on Dries’ mouth, chin, and cheeks. The camera cuts away for a moment then showing a blurred, jerky series of images, the floor, Marek’s shoes. Then Dries is back smiling up at the camera. “You want to,” Marek says, his voice slow and raspy the way it is after he comes, “say something to Pipa?” Dries smiles and blows a kiss at the camera. Then the video stops abruptly.

Gonzalo watches it all the way through one more time before he touches himself. He just watches, his hand fisted tightly in his sheets, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. When it’s done, he gets his zipper down and shoves his hand in his pants. He doesn’t bother with more than that. Just gets his hand around his dick and starts the video again. He comes when Marek comes. Gets jizz on his underwear, his pants. It’s sticky and uncomfortable and he doesn’t give a fuck. He slumps back against the pillows and works his hand out of his pants, wipes it on his sheets. 

He should clean himself up. Should— 

He calls Dries.

“Pipa,” Dries says, his tone all cat who got the canary, “Hey.”

“Dries,” Gonzalo says, “ _Fuck_.” 

Dries laughs, low and satisfied, “So you liked it?”

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “Yeah, of course, I liked it.”

“That’s good,” Dries says, “M’glad. So’s Marek.”

“Oh, yeah?” Gonzalo says.

“Yeah,” Dries says, “He’s right here.” Gonzalo hears the muffled, rustling of fabric against fabric. “Want to talk to him?” 

And something twists in Gonzalo’s chest, an ache that settles right behind his sternum, because they’re together and he’s—

“Yeah,” he says, “Uh, sure.” 

He can hear murmuring, can hear Dries say, _Marek_ , and _Pipa_. Then Marek’s there. “Hey, Pipita.” Gonzalo hasn’t talked to Marek on the phone since before he left. They’ve texted a few times, talked a few times in person, but not on the phone. He’d forgotten the way the phone makes Marek sound slightly different, like his voice is pitched a key higher.

“Hey, Marek,” Gonzalo says.

“So,” Marek says, “You liked it, huh?”

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “‘Course.” 

Marek laughs a little. “That’s good. That’s good.” He pauses and Gonzalo thinks he should say something to fill in the silence but he doesn’t know what to say. “Uh,” Marek says, “Well. I’m glad. Look. I’m just— Just going to give the phone back to Dries. Good to talk to you.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “Of course. You too.”

There’s the sound of rustling fabric again and Marek murmuring something Gonzalo can’t make out then Dries is back saying, “I’m back.” 

They talk for awhile. Mostly about stupid shit. It’s easier to talk to Dries than Marek. But still not easy. There are pauses were there wouldn’t have been just months ago. And a lot of unfinished sentences. But Gonzalo doesn’t want to hang up. Because this is more than he had weeks ago when Dries wouldn’t talk to him at all, when he wasn’t sure if Dries would ever want to talk to him again. He wants to talk to Dries as long as he can. Because if he closes his eyes, it’s almost like it used to be, laying in bed with Dries, loose and sated from sex, just talking about dumb shit. 

“Look,” Dries says finally, “I’ve got to go. Marek came back with dinner.”

“Right,” Gonzalo says, “Of course. Well, uh, talk to you soon?”

“Yeah,” Dries says, “Of course.”

After Dries hangs up, Gonzalo gets up, gets undressed, and gets in the shower. When he gets out of the shower, he puts on his oldest, softest sweatpants and goes downstairs to order dinner. He eats it alone, in front of his TV. 

_seven_

Gonzalo keeps the video on his phone. He knows it’s stupid. Really fucking stupid. But he does it anyway.

He doesn’t forget about it. Not exactly. He just isn’t thinking about it when he hands Paulo his phone so he can see some pictures. Paulo’s hanging out in his hotel room, sprawled across the bed, taking up way too much room, and chattering away about this and that thing. He wants to see some pictures Gonzalo took in the dressing room a few days ago so Gonzalo, who has to piss, and really also just needs a break from Paulo’s constant chatter, shoves his phone at him and goes to the bathroom.

When he comes back out, Paulo is sitting up, perched on the edge of the bed, turning Gonzalo’s phone over and over in his hands. When he sees Gonzalo, he startles, and says, “I’m so fucking sorry, Pipita, I didn’t, _shit_. Sorry. Sorry. I won’t say anything I—“

Everything inside of Gonzalo just stops for a moment. There’s a buzzing in his ears. Because this can’t be what he thinks, can’t— “What,” he hears himself say, like it’s coming from far away, like someone else is saying it, “the fuck Paulo, what’re you?”

Paulo jumps up off the bed and shoves Gonzalo’s phone at him. Gonzalo grabs it automatically. “I’m sorry,” Paulo says, “I really didn’t mean to.”

“Sorry for,” Gonzalo says, then he looks down. And it is exactly what he thinks it is. He takes a step back. Another. His hands are fucking shaking and it feels like his heart’s going to pound out of his chest.

“I’m sorry,” Paulo says again, quieter this time, “Really. I am.” He looks just as young as he actually is and, maybe, a little terrified. “I won’t say anything, Pipita, I wouldn’t. I swear.” 

Gonzalo takes one breath. It feels a little like swallowing glass. He takes another breath. It comes a little easier. His heart is slowing down. He takes another breath. “Okay,” he says. He barely recognizes his own voice. 

“Okay?” Paulo says softly.

Gonzalo turns away from him. He can’t look at him right now. “Okay,” he grits out, “You’re sorry. Okay. You won’t say anything. Fine. Okay.” 

“I’m sorry,” Paulo says again, “Really, I am.” 

Gonzalo sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “Okay. Just— Just can you go, please? Just go.” 

“Okay,” Paulo says, “All right.” 

Gonzalo turns and watches him go to the door. Paulo pauses at the door. “So,” he says, glancing back at Gonzalo, “You were - are - with them?” 

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says. He’s not sure why. Maybe just because he’s never said it out loud before. Never—

“Which,” Paulo says softly, “Were or are?”

Gonzalo looks away again. He doesn’t know. Somedays it feels like were and somedays it feels like are. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Okay,” Paulo says, “Okay.” He pauses then he says, “You left them?”

Gonzalo looks back at him. “I left Napoli.” He’d wanted to leave Napoli. Wanted Juventus and everything it could mean. The glory that, since he left Madrid, seems forever just out of his grasp. Wanted it so much he didn’t call them to say goodbye, didn’t even suggest to them he might leave, because, if he’d talked to them, he’d— He doesn’t know what he would’ve done. But he couldn’t risk it. 

“Okay,” Paulo says, “But them too.”

“It wasn’t—“ Gonzalo looks away again. “It was Napoli I was leaving, I wanted what Juventus could— I—“ 

“Sometimes,” Paulo says, and something about the tone of his voice, it makes Gonzalo look back at him, “Leaving is something you have to do.”

“Yeah,” Gonzalo says, “Sometimes it is.”


End file.
